It’s very strange to think I’ve not even been back home for a week. It feels like eons since we left the north west coast.
As we drove towards Glen Coe and Fort William, the weather got progressively worse. When C’s drenched car pulled into the campsite, we were greeted by grey skies, louder raindrops and a prowling wind. Opening the boot, we glanced at the bag that contained our accommodation. We didn’t get the tent set up until the following day.
Luckily, time pushed the weather fronts over us, and on the fourth day, we made it round to the islands. Dad strapped the dinghy to the top of the car; our rucksacks were filled with water, a tatty paperback and biscuits; the obligatory rain jacket just in case.
We landed on the white sand, walking through the dunes, and the sun was splitting the sky. Mum lay immobile on a rug sunbathing while the rest of us paddled. C found that he couldn’t resist the urge to go for a swim – shorts doubled as swimming trunks – Dad and Brother quickly followed. Manly pride.
C spent a week with us, and after a very un-Scottish leaving meal of prawn curry, it was back to Family Rules. This involved open arguments, shameless snoring and no privacy (caravan life.)
Regardless, I regretted leaving. I loved being back with my family, with C, in such a peaceful, natural, beautiful part of Scotland. I hope that I’ll be able to return next year. I’ve just got rather a lot to do before then.